Angel of the Night
by Calzer Dan
Summary: Princess Avacyn has a brief brush with vampires and her life takes on a whole new perspective... Rated M for language, smut and violence
1. Chapter 1

Out of the Night

"Princess, you should rest we have a long day of travel tomorrow and you'll need your strength." Avacyn looked her at her chaperone, a soft-spoken young girl from Thraben, she had a point and the wine from dinner is making her head light, maybe she should retire for the evening. The hour is late and the moon is high in the sky, casting its pale light upon the inhabitants of Innistrad.

It provided little relief to the inhabitants of Kessig however, with the dark forests creating shadows so deep one could almost drown in them. The distant howls of werewolves did much to exacerbate the paranoia that permeates the region, much to Princess Avacyn of Thraben's dismay. She always tried to conceal her dislike for the dark woods of the region, out of courtesy for those who hail from the province. She glances around the several campfires littered around the campsite and the guards, servants and retainers that accompanied her on her trip.

"I suppose you're right, Remilia." She gathers her voluminous skirts and makes her way back to her carriage. Once inside she starts the laborious process of undressing. She drops her skirt and petticoats, undoes her corset and slides into a nightgown. She breathes a sigh of relief, no matter how well they fitted her corsets, Avacyn always felt the tiniest bit constricted, not enough to be a hindrance, but it was still a relief to get it off.

She slides into the cot against the wall, snuggled up under the blankets she closes her eyes. Sleep comes soon and evelopes her in its sweet embrace.

_BANGBANGBANG _

Avacyn eyes shoot open

_BANGBANGBANG_, "Princess! AGHHHHH!" Avacyn snaps to attention and freeze's at the scream. Shivers surge up her spine, goosebumps explode across her tender flesh, and pupils become pinpricks. All effects of the wine drain away. _Vampires... oh, by the Archangels, _Avacyn thinks with mounting dread. Her jaw quivers as she suppresses a scream.

Her head snaps as she hears thumping, crashing, groaning and screaming coming from outside her carriage window. She silently creeps out of bed and peeps through the window. All she can see are the nawed carcasses of her retainers and guards, overturned crates and ransacked carriages. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes are wide. She takes short gasps.

_Crunch! _Avacyn leaps clear of her skin when a dead body with elongated canines of a vampire smashes through the wall her carriage. She gags and nearly wretches at the stench of it's burning flesh. A small spark of hope ignites within her chest, just enough to dispel the palsy that had all but overwhelmed her.

"Feel the light, Vampire!" She doesn't recognise the voice, but felt the fervour of an Inquisitor of the Church of Holy Light. She creeps forward to see who her saviour

She scrambles back into a corner. A lone man stands in the centre of the camp with half a dozen vampires closing in around him. He stands resolute against the encroaching fiends. With a silver longsword in one hand and a silver dagger in the other. The vampires snarl and bar their fangs. The Lone Hunter simply smiles mockingly, "I am supposed to be frieghtened by this?" The vampires continue their display, "I've fought drunkards more intimidating than you bastards, now come, to the dance!" he raises his blades, "Who wants to be first?!"

Savacyn hears this little exchange and thanks the Archangels for this miracle.

A large male vampire surges forward swing an arming sword, with a female close behind carrying a spear. He dodges the man and duck under the woman's first spear thrust. He beats it aside and pounces forward, lunging with his longsword. The blow connects with a resounding scream as it slides into the woman's corrupted flesh. She falls limp on the blade embedded in her heart.

The Hunter hears the man coming back around for another attack. He swings the woman around as a shield. The male's strike cuts into the base of her cold, dead neck with the hunter with drawing his blade, a small spray of blood coming with it. He leaps forwards going in for a quick slash to the chest.

It falls short and he almost loses his balance...

"Shit!" he curses to himself. He regains his footing quickly and takes a couple steps back, and returns to his opening stance. He hears a snarl and instinctively raises his dagger behind his head to deflect the incoming strike.

He catches it and ducks away to bring both assailants into focus. They both ready their weapons, as does the Hunter. The three stare each other down, the Huner switches to reverse grip on his dagger...

Avacyn has now crept to the edge of the rent torn in the side of her carriage from earlier and peers out to see how he's fairing in his fight...

The Hunter's eyes dart from opponent to oppenent. Murder burns in the vampire's eyes, and vengeance in the Hunter's. "Why do you fight for the humans, your grandfather misses you, he would gladly have you by his side?" A male vampire says from behind, the Hunter turns around and sees the remaining three approaching from behind. He adjust his position so

The hunter's voice loses it's fiery zeal, and replaces it with freezing detestation, "Why would I want to become an animal, scuttle about in the night like a rat? Why would I want to live like a parasite?" All the vampires snarl simultaneuosly.

"What a waste," another female vampire snaps. "Kill this bastard abomination!" She lunges forwards. The Hunter blocks with his dagger and thurst with his sword, the vampire leaps back with inhuman speed. The Hunter, eager to be done, closes the gap and delivers a quick riposte to his assailant, driving the blade into her throught, tainited blood gushing form the wound for a moment, he pulls his sword free. He turns to face his thrid attacker. His lilac eyes glow with bloodlust. His brutal scimitar held ready to strike.

The Hunter remains unfazed while Avacyn watches on in terror. The Hunter observes that the serrated blade would be ineffective at best. He steps forwards. With hardly a a foot between them. Avacy notices his lips moving in a rhythmic fashion, his off-hand begins to glow with a little ball of light like a handheld star.

"Come on, you filthy craven kinslayer!"

The Hunter gives him an ice cold glare. His response... is simple, "_Burn!" _He hurls the ball of light, and the vampire is consumed in burning light, when it fades, all that is left is a blackened skeleton that crumbles to dust. "Who's next?" The other vampires all back away as he forms another ball in his palm...

They all snarl and growl, but begin to back away. The Hunter's patience begins to wear thin, he pick one of the remain three at random and blast him into bust with the spell. One breaks and flees, while the other stays, in place and drops his axe, falls to his knees. "Please, have mercy! I beg of you, please, I have a wife and family-"

"Whom you murdered to sate your own bloodlust. If you wanted compassion, you should have hung youself from the rafters of your manor! Spared the dozens you have killed!" He draws a crossbow from his back and points it at the grovelling vampire. "Your kind took everything from me! My family, my home, and my LOVE!" He pulls the trigger and sends the bolt straight through the vampires skull. The vampire fall over onto his back with his dying agony forever etched onto his ghostly visage. The Hunter then extracts the bolt and inserts it into his quiver. He sighs and turns towards the carriage with the massive torn in the side.

"Princess, I know your in there, you can come out now, it's safe," he calls to Acacyn.


	2. Chapter 2

Avacyn creeps out from behind her hiding spot in her carriage. The two stare at each other from across the camp. The Hunter, calm and perfectly collected; while Avacyn is breathless with fear. He smiles disarmingly. "I apologise for not reaching here in time to save the rest of your entourage." All Avacyn can manage is a weak smile and a timid nod.

"Princess," a small voice says meekly.

Avacyn looks down to see Remilia bleeding on the ground next to the door of her carriage. Avacyn practically leaps from her carriage while the Hunter moves in beside her. He checks her over, before pulling out a rag and cleaning around the edges of the wound in her side. "It's a stab wound, thank the Angels," the Hunter says with a little hope. He begins muttering an enchantment and streams of light issue from his hands to begin to seal up the wound. Avacyn watches in equal parts fear, gratitude and wonder. After a few minutes the Hunter stands up and offers Remilia his hand. She takes it and he pull her to her feet. "There, milady." Avacyn notices small beads of sweat forming on his brow and rolling down his face, and how his skin palled throughout the process.

"Thank you, sir," Remilia responds. The two young ladies look at each other grinning before embracing briefly.

"Sir, may I ask your name?" Avacyn asks after the pair pry themselves from each other.

"Sorin." Is all he responds with

"Well, you have my gratitude, Sorin, I will see to it that you are richly rewarded."

"Thank you Your Grace," he says with a slight bow. "Your kindness humbles me." Avacyn watches him trying to figure him out.

"Are you a member of the Church?" Remilia asks

"You could say that," he looks around and continues, "Miladies might I suggest we depart, there is a safe house not too far from here."

"What about the dead?"

"I will see to those tomorrow, I think that Princess Avacyn's safety takes priority."

Remilia shoulders slump, "He's right."

Avacyn nods, "Alright, but we must comeback and pays respects tomorrow."

Sorin sighs, "If Your Grace insists, your wish is my command, now let us be gone. Perhaps, some better footwear would be prudent." Avacyn is suddenly very aware of the cold earth beneath her feet. She hurries back to the carriage to find her shoes or boots or something. After slipping into her walking boots and grabbing her coat, she hurries back outside, Remilia is also similarly dressed.

He turns towards the woods, and the two young ladies follow. He leads them deep into the woods where, Remilia quickly becomes fed up with the tramping through the woods, Avacyn couldn't blame her though. Both had to abandon their clothes back at the campsite and their nightwear provided little protection from the branches and the drizzle that has begun. _Not that my normal attire prides much protection, _Avacyn reflects somewhat sardonically. Eventually Sorin stops outside a small wooden cottage in the centre of a clearing…

A manor house deep in the mountains of Stensia…

Albrecht sat hunched over outside the door to the quarters of his sire, the legendary Edgar Markov, awaiting an audience. He and his compatriots didn't count on meeting Sorin, Edgar's infamous grandson. "_It would be easy,__" __they said, __"__Attack under the cover of nightfall, turn and kidnap the princess, the rest we could do with as we pleased, but no biting, and get back to Stensia, everything else will take care of itself.__" __Bullshit, Sorin was tracking us, he knew we were going to strike, _Albrecht reflects bitterly. _Why didn__'__t we just kill him when we had the chance? _

"Our lord will see you now," Edgar's butler announces from the door.

Albrecht suddenly sits bolt upright. His lips become a thin line and his glare slightly vaguely at the opposite wall.

"Sir, his eminence doesn't like to be kept waiting…"

Albrecht summons the will to stand up and walk in the door. He stands just inside the door, as the butler closes it behind him. He stares straight out the window directly opposite him at the rocky, craggy landscape of Stensia.

"Good evening Albrecht…" his whole body clenches and he swears that there's sweat running down his brow (vampires don't sweat) at a velvety, warm, rich baritone voice. Edgar emerges from an adjoining room in a red and black bathrobe, and holding a clear crystal goblet filled with bright crimson blood. "I hear that there has been a complication." His tone is very… curt.

"Eeehh…"

Edgar raises his hand, Albrecht closes his mouth, "Don't worry, I don't blame you, my child. I am well aware of how… infuriating my grandson can be." Albrecht feels icy fingers crawl down his back. Edgar turns to face the window, staring out in no particular direction. "It's a pity. He could have the my heir, so much more so than his imbecile father." Edgar turns back to face Albrecht. "This is only a hiccup, bump in the road. We have our agents in Thraben. They can deal with him when he enters the city, and the lovely Princess Avacyn will be ours." He crosses his arms and rests the brim of his goblet against his chin. "Innistrad will be ours, Sorin will be rotting in the ground or one of us, and the mortals will know their place." A broad, maniacal grin plays across the vampire's lips at the thought. He sips his blood.

"Long past time, my lord," Albrecht responds tersely.

"Indeed, my child, now go. I believe a new shipment arrived today. Enjoy yourself," he raises his goblet. "You lasted a minute against a Markov, you earned it." Albrecht bows, leaves and breathes a long slow sigh of relief.

Back in the room, Markov re-enters the adjoining bedroom saying, "Now my sweet," he grins with bloodlust and predatory, sexual cravings at the young girl lying tied to his bed and gagged. He brushes her light brow from her face. _So sweet and so innocent, and so wonderfully exhilarating to defile_, he muses as he simultaneously penetrates her nether regions and sinks his teeth into her neck and begins to thrust with bestial fury. He stops feeding momentarily to whisper in her ear, "Don't worry it'll only hurt for a second

The butler hears the muffled screams of his master's victim and leave him to it, he has other matters to attend to.

Back in Kessig…

Sorin throws open the hard wood door to the wooden cottage. Sorin mutters another incantation and several torches splutter into life. "I apologise for the less than opulent conditions, miladies."

"My carriage was direly uncomfortable, this looks like an improvement," says Avacyn.

"Good to hear it, just one problem, there's only one bed. I'll stay on watch for the night." Remilia's shoulders slump, Avacyn remains unperturbed, the adrenalin is beginning to fade and she'd quite happily fall asleep in a stable.

"Princess, you can have the bed," Remilia says reverently. Sorin raises an eyebrow, _They have you well trained._

Avacyn, too tired to argue simply nods, and asks, "What about Remilia?"

"She can have my bedroll for the night," Sorin says. He goes to the fireplace opposite the door, throws some wood on it and lights it with the same spell he used earlier on the torches. "I'll show you to the bedroom, such as it is." He heads through a heavy door with massive iron bracings into a small chamber with a single cot.

"Looks like this place was meant withstand attack," Remilia observes

"Yes it does," Avacyn responds as she stares at the heavy door.

"This is cottage is an Inquisitorial safe house, it has to be able withstand attack from vampires or werewolves," Sorin says

Remilia and Avacyn's faces lose what little colour the night hadn't stolen there and then, "Werewolves?" Avacyn asks weakly.

"They're not a problem this time of year, and the Church has them contained fairly well. Large packs are few and far between. Trust me, vampires are our main concern, and they hardly show up here, unless they have business," Sorin answers in a soothing manner.

Avacyn turns that around in her head, she looks at Remilia, who also appears equally worried. Sorin turns around sees their expressions, "I'll explain everything in the morning." In her exhaustion, Avacyn pushes he worries to the back of her mind and places her trust in this stranger, she know all people can be deceptive, being raised in the royal court of Thraben, but she had little choice, he saved her life and the fact that she could sleep standing up are all it takes to convince her not to argue.

Sorin wanders out of the room and returns shortly after with his bedroll, "I offer my sincerest apologies to milady for not having appropriate accommodation," Sorin offers Remilia with a slight bow after he lays it out on the floor.

She bows in response, "I accept your apologies, sir." _He__'__s been raised well, perhaps he__'__s even of noble birth_, Avacyn reflects.

"I'll take my leave, miladies, I hope you sleep well." Avacyn offers a gracious smile and he departs, closing the door behind him. She quickly throws her coat and boots off and crawls in-between the sheets, which to her surprise are incredibly soft. Remilia does the same and slides into her bedroll.

Outside in the main room Sorin pulls out a chair and sits down, he throws his wide-brimmed hat on the the kitchen table and slouches. He sighs happy that his grandfather's plan has been forestalled. _It__'__ll only end when I sink my blade into his heart, I will relish every, single, one of his dying moments! _Sorin ruminates with absolute loathing.

His mouth begins to turn dry…

His breath quickens and his stomach clenches…

He reaches for flask at his waist and takes a long draught from it. He closes his eyes as a crimson liquid flows down his throat. He breathing returns to normal, and his moistens again. _Damned thirst, it__'__s only getting worse. How long I wonder? _

He sits there staring at the ground. Soon images of his previous life began to float around his skull. They only caused him to bring him to the verge of tears. _Another long night. _


	3. Chapter 3

Sorin jolts when he feels a knock on his shoulder. He tries to swallow, but finds his mouth dry. The cold early morning sunlight stings his eyes, he blinks rapidly before they adjust. He rises from the table and leans back in his seat, stretching, moaning and yawning. He rubs his pounding temples.

He looks to see Remilia staring him down with daggers shooting from her eyes. "Good morning, my lady," Sorin says as cordially as his current state will allow.

"What is that?!" Remilia points to a half-empty bottle on the table.

Sorin looks at it, "Mother, I do believe that is a bottle with liquid in it," Sorin says mockingly.

"It's whiskey!" Remilia snaps.

"And?" Sorin says with growing displeasure.

"You're a drunkard!" She nearly screams.

_She's a sharp one,_ Sorin thinks derisively, "How can you not be a drunkard in this country?" Sorin shoots back, not particularly caring if he was being insulting or not.

"How can we rely on a drunkard for protection?" She asks while giving a critical eye.

_Funny how she seems to forget the healing spell I used last night. _"Healing spells also cover hangovers," Sorin says while he puts his words into practice.

"Oh really?"

"Absolutely," Sorin responds, while rising from his chair. His mouth is no longer dry, his temples have subsided and his eyes are no longer bloodshot.

"Well then explain this!" She picks up a flask from the table. Sorin's eyes widen in horror. "There's blood in it."

Sorin's shock passes momentarily, and he dashes and snatches the flask away. "Alright," he says strapping it to his waist. "It's pigs blood."

"I thought vampires could only drank human blood, and couldn't get intoxicated."

Sorin rolls his eyes, "Well that leads to the conclusion that…" He twirls his hands while Remilia ponders the situation.

"You're not a vampire."

"Yes." _Is it really this hard to figure out? At least we're going places, _Sorin reflects impatiently.

"But you're not human either…"

Sorin nods.

"That means that you're a dhampyr." Her eyes widen at the realisation. "By the Angels… I though your kind were only a legend!"

"It's very hard to produce my kind. You have to possess to be gifted with White Magic at the time of the transformation. You must then survive the transformation, and the vampire who mistakenly turned you will likely kill you during the process once he realises what you are. I was turned by my grandfather, Lord Edgar Markov, shortly after I completed my training. No one thought I'd resist the process, no dhampyr has ever been produced by the bite of a vampire lord, never mind the most powerful and oldest in the land. I was disposed off by being dumped in a nearby river."

"Why are not in a Church uniform?"

"I returned to Thraben, I was tried and the Church found me tainted, they said it was only a matter of time before the transformation was complete."

"Has it?" Remilia asks guardedly.

"No, this is as far as it has gotten."

Remilia stares into his amber eyes, Sorin meets her gaze, before staring towards the door to the bed chamber, where the Avacyn has just emerged.

"Your Grace," Sorin says, taking off his hat, placing it over his chest and bowing.

"Good morning, Sorin," Avacyn replies. She notices the whiskey bottle, Sorin remains impassive. "How are you feeling?" she asks, Sorin notes what he suspects to be fake innocuousness.

"I'm very well, thank you." _She knows the ways of the Court well,_ Sorin muses.

Avacyn smiles sweetly.

"Care for some breakfast?" Sorin says in an attempt to divert the situation.

"Oh, I'd love some, thank you. Remilia, be a dear and go to the cellar," she orders with a that same disarming smile she just used on Sorin.

"Of course princess."

"The door is over there," Sorin points to a door on the opposite side to the bed chamber. Remilia shuffles off.

Once she behind the door, Avacyn turns a steely gaze to Sorin. "Why didn't you tell us that you're a dhampyr?" she asks forcefully. _How much of that did conversation with Remilia did she hear? _Sorin asks himself.

Sorin sits back down the in the chair he rose from. "I had my reasons."

"They were?"

"Not many people would accept me once they know what I am."

"You thought that by bringing me as far as Thraben would allow you to show yourself as still being human in spirit?"

He nods

"Then what?"

"I'd melt back into anonymity, you'd forget me, or at least remember as that noble warrior who saved you from the vampires when all else seemed lost."

"How romantic!" Avacyn half-shrieks. "But unnecessary. You see unlike most, I learned the truth about vampires. True vampires are susceptible to mental manipulation from their sire and lord. If you were a true vampire, I'd already be transformed," she says in a rather more serious tone. Sorin nods his affirmation."Besides, I'd hate to think that my saviour would go unrewarded."

"How so?" _How long has Remilia been down there? _Sorin wonders, his eyes wandering to the door.

"Oh, she's just making sure that I have the best of what's there; after all I am a princess," she says with a cheeky smile. _How'd she guess what I was thinking?_ "So, as to your reward. Since dhampyrs and their sires rarely get along and the sire can't influence you like a normal vampire, I'd say that a Royal Pardon is in order. Also a title, and an estate perhaps. But you already have that… Sir Markov."

Sorin gasps.

"I am well aware of your story, though what of Lord Edgar Markov?"

"He's the vampire that changed me, and he has already turned my father."

"Well, Sir Markov, it seems that you are the last living scion of House Markov, you shall inherit all incomes and land entailed to your new title."

"I'm not sure the nobility will take to well to that." _I've never been one for their vapid frivolities anyway._

"Unfortunately they have little choice, the law states that property passes from to the eldest living, or non-vampiric, child." We hear the door creaking, and Remilia emerges from the cellar with some food in her arms.

Sorin rises from his chair and takes the food and begins preparing it. Meanwhile he listens to Remilia and Avacyn talking in hushed tones. His enhanced hearing can pick them up fairly well. He notes Remilia's hesitation to trust him, while Avacyn argues in his favour. Mostly on pragmatic grounds that all his actions have been for their benefit. And that he isn't technically a vampire.

One particular sentence caught his attention. "The way he's acting is like he's trying to get our guard down," Remilia says.

Sorin raises an eyebrow. Remilia responds, "He acts like a gentleman."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that he is trying to accommodate us as best he can given the circumstances."

"Exactly-"

Sorin wanders to the table with cups and cutlery, and sets it down. "I'm sorry did I interrupt something?" he asks.

"No," Remilia responds with a saccharine smile. Sorin doesn't notice Avacyn rolling her eyes.

He returns and dishes up three plates and sets them on the table. "What do you intend to do, Sorin?" Avacyn asks.

"First, get you some better clothes and tend to the dead. Second, make for the nearest village, the local bailiff is a personal friend of mine."

"He should have handed you in on sight!" Remilia says, rather shocked.

"He's under constant pressure to keep his village safe from vampires, werewolves and undead. He was willing to take any help he could get."

"Once there, what then?" Avacyn asks.

"We rest for the night and move onto Thraben. You'll be returned home, safe and sound, by the day after tomorrow, should the Angels allow it," Sorin says.

"If we don't?" Remilia asks.

He removes two daggers from there sheaths and hands them to Avacyn and Remilia. "I swear that I anything should happen to either of you; my life is forfeit."

"I'll hold you to your word," Avacyn says with considerable weight in her voice.

Sorin nods and fetches a pitcher of ale.

After the meal is consumed and cleaned up, the three make their way back to the Royal Caravan. The two young ladies mumble and mutter the whole time, Sorin ignores it for the most part. They were still bickering over whether he was trustworthy or not. Though, Sorin can't really blame them. But he did wonder when they'd stop arguing about it. If he were in the white uniforms of the Church they would be swooning for a peck on the cheek from him. Truth be told, he didn't care if they trusted him, he wished they'd stop bickering incessantly about it. Human blood was distasteful to him, not only because he can't stand the thought of drinking it, but also because the flavour makes him wretch.

"Stop," Sorin says rather suddenly and quite sharply. "Get down." Sorin and the young ladies dropped to their hunkers.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Remilia snaps at Sorin. He quickly clamps a hand around her mouth.

"Ssshhh." The three hear voices floating gently through the air.

"What are they saying?" Avacyn asks. Sorin removes his hand

Sorin strains his hearing for a second, "They're looting the caravan."

Remilia looks absolutely horrified. "How dare they!"

"I think the question is more, are they bandits or peasants looking for a little extra coin," Sorin says. "Wait here, keep quiet, don't follow until I say so." Sorin stands up and walks away. Avacyn and Remilia remain hunkered down and listen as best they can.

For the first while the voices don't change, that's before a shout, a someone speaking softly and reassuringly. Then more shouting… then the screaming begins, and clangs of metal on metal…

A little while after that Sorin returns with his clothes slightly blood-splattered. "Bandits," is all he says.

He then leads them back, where there or four fresh bodies in tattered, well-worn clothes lie on the ground, and there are a few rusty blades and cudgels lying around the place. "They didn't make off with much, only that which they could fit in their pockets, unfortunately, the horses bolted, or were slaughtered last night, so we'll be travelling on foot. It's about half a days walk to the village I mentioned earlier. Come on, let's get started." Sorin walks over and grabs one of the deceased guards and carries him to the centre of the clearing.

Sorin is about to pile one of the bandits on the pile of bodies when Remilia comes out from getting dressed and stops him, "What do you think you're doing?!" she shrieks.

"Dealing with the deceased in an appropriate manner," he says throwing the corpse on to the top.

"They're filthy scum who deserve to rot or become a necromancer's toy!"

"How would you feel if someone said that about your corpse?"

Remilia goes to protest, "They're common criminals! Outlaws!"

"Death cares little," Sorin says grimly. "It comes for all of us, at one or time or another, Kings and curs alike, and you should know that Aurella takes all who pass on under her wing and guides them to safety; be they peasant, king or criminal."

"Not sinners," Remilia responds. "She punishes those who have been corrupted in this life."

"True, but that means those who studied necromancy, became a vampire, or a werewolf voluntarily," Sorin responds quickly. He finishes dumping the bodies on the pile, which is quite high. Sorin looks over to see Avacyn leaning against what's left f her carriage. Sorin silently turns and begins, "Auriella, we doth commit these souls to your loving care, guide them to the Tranquil Plane, where they may be provided for until the End of Days. May they rest in their eternal slumber, without interruption and cursed be they who disturb them, Praise be to the Archangels… amen."

"Amen," the two young ladies repeat after Sorin finishes. Sorin mutters a incantation and a ball of searing light appears in his hand. He throws it into the pile of corpses, where it begins to burn them all to dust. "So these souls are released from torment, and beckoned to peace."

The three waste no time in packing what they can, with Sorin shouldering a large pack with some food and spare clothes. They set upon the road about mid-morning.

Though they encounter few travellers Sorin keeps his eyes pealed, especially on the ditches and bushes. He also notes the attitudes of his charges; Avacyn seems tether indifferent to walking along the road, though she seems alert, while Remilia complains, huffs and pouts every other minute. Sorin knows little about Remilia, which either means she's of a lower social class, or a recently entitled family. He really cares about neither, his time in the Inquisition taught him that such conventions mean little to nothing. He has seen Inquisitors from the common classes that rival, and often surpass, their counterparts from higher rungs of society.

Men are men in Sorin's mind. Simple as that.

Though he expected Avacyn, at least to have complained by no. He thinks that this some extreme form of courtesy.

A little after midday they stop at the roadside and have a meagre meal of bread, cheese and cured meat. Conversation is sparse and they begin travelling again so after. The sun continues its daily arc across the sky.

When its just setting beyond the mountains of Stensia, the three come upon a wooden wall with a couple of watchtowers around a simple reinforced gate. "Halt, state your name and business here!" a sentry calls from the wall.

Sorin removes his hat.

"I apologise, sir, I didn't recognise you from this distance." Sorin remains silent as orders are barked for the gates to be opened…

Edgar's Manor…

Edgar lounges upon his lavish throne in his audience chamber, a goblet of blood in his hand. Two youngling vampires stand before him, having just returned from a scouting mission.

"My lord, we have found your grandson and the princess, they're travelling to a nearby village. From there it is likely that they will make for Thraben as soon as possible."

"Hmm," Edgar points to his butler. "As I recall, Eduard and his men are stationed there aren't they?"

"Yes, my lord."

Edgar rests a finger against his chin. He finds such a golden opportunity hard to pass up, but Eduard is an extremely loyal and powerful servant. Eduard's grudge could prove problematic, but he's the only one who proved a match for Markov… a distraction then, he smiles devilishly. _Eduard shall lead Markov away, his men attack the village, and take the princess, who__'__ll __'__die__' __in the fighting. The king doesn__'__t yet know about our true intentions. But, if that should fail__… __Tibalt. He can deal with Sorin once he reaches Thraben. While his loss would tragic, it is ultimately necessary. From there, my friends from the Stormkirk house can bring the princess to me. _He chortles throatily. "My orders are as follows: dispatch Tibalt to Thraben, have him contact our cell there and await further orders. I shall send word to Sir Eduard."

"Indeed, my lord,' the butler responds swiftly…

"Welcome, princess!" the bailiff greets emphatically. "We are honoured to have you as our guest. I am Bailiff Jackl Bauer."

Avacyn smiles gracefully and responds, "I am honoured to be here." Markov groans as quietly as he can.

"And you Lady Dreschler," the bailiff says to Remilia. "You can follow me, I shall show you to your chambers…"


End file.
